


Swell

by glim



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: summerpornathon, Dreams, M/M, Team Gluttony, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"I've come for the king!" Merlin shouts up into the storm when he can see the hunt hover beneath the clouds. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Summerpornathon 2012 Challenge 5: [Myths & Legends](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/83440.html). (Revised version)

In his dream, Merlin places his hand on the tree, palm flat against the bark to feel life pulsing inside. It pulses through him, too, up from the roots that burrow deep into the ground to the leaves that dare to brush the very top of the sky with a powerful force. With one word, he sends a summons through the rest of the king's forest and, he hopes, to the king himself. 

The leaves and the grass carry his message, wind rushing through them like whisper that carries the name of the king. When a faint, damp chill skirts the breeze and the forest settles into a lull, Merlin sits down at the foot of the tree. He's patient, he can wait here until night falls and the king answers his call. 

And he will. Merlin now knows that he will; he can feel him in the air, in the dirt and in the grass, in the land that remembers him as well as Merlin does. 

Merlin feels the change in the air first and in the wind that begins to stir the leaves and make the branches creak as evening darkens the sky. The silence between the rise and fall of the wind is heavy and tense. During one of those intervals, Merlin whispers the king's name again and sends it through the storm to the host that waits at the edge of the sky. 

A sudden slap of rain hits Merlin in the face and the storm is upon him, tearing at his hair and his clothes. The thunder of hoofbeats and the baying of hounds swell the storm until they overcome the wind and rain. Merlin stands at the center to let himself be battered and windblown, so that when the hunt swoops from the sky above him, he is shaking with cold and anticipation. 

Most nights, ghosts and demons ride with the hunt, but not when the king leads it. He commands a fairy host out of Avalon and they are no less wild, no less vicious on their night of freedom than any of the other riders. 

"I've come for the king!" Merlin shouts up into the storm when he can see the hunt hover beneath the clouds. 

Arms clash and the hounds riot; one rider separates from the others signals for the rest to stay. His horse's hooves never touch the ground and Merlin can see the rain and trees through both their forms. "No mortal can survive the Wild Hunt. But, then, you aren't mortal are you?" 

Merlin takes a step closer and holds a hand out to the horse, who nuzzles up to him with a quiet whinny. His form flickers, and grows more substantial, until Merlin feels the warmth of his breath.

"He remembers you," the king says and pats the horse's flank. He dismounts, pats the horse again, and walks up to Merlin. "Right. Help me out of my armor, now that I've come for you."

That everything around Merlin -- the night, the storm, the forest, the hunt -- feels unreal ceases to matter when he sees Arthur flicker into full being at his touch. A thousand years have passed since Merlin last served Arthur, but he remembers all the little idiosyncrasies of his king's armor. 

He remembers Arthur's touch, too, and when the tips of Arthur's fingers graze Merlin's jaw, warmth flushes over Merlin's face despite the cold. 

"There, now, I've come back tonight." Arthur touches Merlin's neck and slips one finger beneath the collar of Merlin's shirt. His mouth closes over Merlin's after he tugs Merlin close, and the taste of rain lingers between their lips as they kiss. 

A lull settles around them, but at his back Merlin can hear the storm and the hunt anxious to rage again. He wastes no time in getting his hands up under Arthur's tunic, kissing him harder and harder until he can push Arthur up against the tree. 

Because Arthur feels real beneath his hands, he doesn't care how rushed this has to be, or how their mouths crash against each other with an intensity that hurts them both. He is hard and wanting, and his body yearns towards Arthur's with a wildness of his own. Merlin can ignore the rain and the wind when he has Arthur's breath harsh and loud in his ear and Arthur's cock, hot and hard, in his hand. 

He doesn't even care that he has to get them both off painfully fast, his hand jerking at Arthur's cock while he tries to keep himself as close as he can to Arthur. 

It's the one moment he has had with Arthur in a thousand years and he is going to take all he can and save it up for a thousand more. 

+

When Merlin wakes, he knows at once that he is the pulse of life inside the tree, still awaiting the rumble of phantom hooves against the ground and the scream of the ghostly wind in the sky.


End file.
